


Dream of the Fisherman's Priest

by MiniNephthys



Category: End Roll (Video Game)
Genre: Dubious Consent, Other, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Request Meme, Tentacle Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-08
Updated: 2016-10-08
Packaged: 2018-08-20 06:31:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8239400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiniNephthys/pseuds/MiniNephthys
Summary: “It’s just - the tentacles.”  “You just haven’t had a good experience with them, Father."





	

Kantera keeps books full of pictures in his shop. Woodcut designs, he explains, and goes a little into the process of making them when Russell asks. For the most part, he lets Russell go through the books on his own. Russell can’t read any of the words, but the pictures are pretty and usually self-explanatory.

After finishing going through one book, he pulls out another and opens it to a random page.

Are those octopuses? And that naked woman-

Russell slams the book shut as quickly as he’d opened it, causing Kantera to look over at him. “Hm? Something the matter?”

Russell shows him the deceptively plain cover of the book. He can’t read the title, but Kantera clearly can, because he turns a little pink. “Ah - I forgot that was even there. Please don’t read that one until you’re older.”

Russell doesn’t know if he’ll ever be old enough to want to read this. He puts it back on the shelf.

* * *

“I heard that you said some terrible things about me, Father.”

Dogma sweats. He’s not entirely sure how he got into this situation, or where he is, but looking around would mean taking his eyes off of the gigantic octopus that’s in front of him, and he’s completely unwilling to do that. “I, I didn’t mean you, specifically, but-”

“Just squids and octopuses in general?” the octopus says, voice a low rumble. “That’s not any better. We’re just as nice as any other species.”

“I don’t doubt that…” Dogma’s voice quivers as he considers whether honesty will help him any in this situation. He decides that honesty is a virtue, and trusts that God’s teachings will not lead him astray in his darkest hour. “It’s just - the tentacles.”

“These?” The octopus lifts one, as if examining it for the first time. “You just haven’t had a good experience with them, Father. We could fix that.”

Dogma can’t picture what a ‘good experience’ with tentacles would be, but… “E-everyone should be given a chance, even sea creatures… A-alright, I’ll do as you ask. What should I do?”

“Take off your clothes.”

God’s teachings have definitely led him astray. Dogma turns a bright red. “What?!”

If octopi could smile, this one definitely would. “I solemnly swear you won’t come to any harm. Tentacles aren’t good for delicate work - if I did it for you, I’d have to tear your clothes.”

Dogma doesn’t want that - he’s not much of a seamster and repairs are expensive. But he also really doesn’t want to be naked, either. But he did agree to whatever the squid wanted, so…

It’s with shaking hands that Dogma takes off his robes. His boots are set neatly aside along with his socks, and soon he’s nearly naked save for his underwear.

“Is this enough?” he asks.

“No.”

He swallows, and the thought that having this torn off would be even more embarrassing than taking it off himself is the only reason he manages to get his underwear off.

“What now?” he asks, trembling.

“Now,” the octopus says, “you just try to relax.”

Dogma doesn’t think that’s possible when he’s naked. He especially doesn’t think that’s possible when a tentacle stretches towards him and brushes against his bare chest - he lets out a squeak without meaning to.

“Relax, Father,” the squid says with a chuckle. “You might even enjoy it once you do.”

He really doesn’t know how he could possibly enjoy having a tentacle rubbing up and down his chest. It’s so wet - at least it isn’t cold, it’s as warm as he’d expect any other living being to be. But it’s doing nothing but making him uncomfortable.

“Not very sensitive there?” the octopus asks, as idly as discussing the weather. Dogma shakes his head. “Alright, I understand.”

It doesn’t remove the tentacle. What it does is send another one to wrap around Dogma’s length.

That sends a sudden shock through him, a not wholly unpleasant one. His face flushes even more, and while the tentacle continues rubbing him to hardness, he manages to squeak something resembling words. “Wh-what are you-?”

“Isn’t it obvious? I’m giving you a good experience.”

Now Dogma can see exactly what it meant by ‘good experience’. Even worse, he realizes that fear of squids or not, his body is reacting to the touch like it would to any other. The wetness coming off the tentacle helps it slide, and it’s not long before he’s fully hard.

He covers his face in his hands. This is so far from what he expected - or wanted, he adds a second too late - that it may as well be in another universe.

Thus, he doesn’t see the third tentacle until it’s nudging at his backside. He jolts, but the tip is small enough and wet enough to nudge its way inside of him. The fullness is uncomfortable, particularly as it pushes deeper, but the other tentacles do a good job of being distracting.

Dogma uncovers his face long enough to speak, though he doesn’t manage anything more coherent than, “That’s…”

His knees are buckling. Before he can fall, he’s lifted a little into the air, supported only by this creature’s many limbs. He’s helpless, his brain reminds him. He has been for a while now.

So why not just give in?

The tendril inside him rubs against something that makes him jolt again, this time less from surprise and more from the heat and pleasure it sends through him, and the noise that leaves his mouth is distinctly a moan no matter how much he’d like to pretend it was anything else. That somehow seems like the most embarrassing part of his position, and when another tentacle prods at his lips, it’s only because of that that he opens his mouth and lets it rest on his tongue. Only because of that.

The tentacle inside of him is rubbing almost constantly against that spot. The one wrapped around him is stroking faster, and he can’t tell how much of the wet spot underneath him is from the tentacle dripping or from him. The one inside his mouth pushes just barely down into his throat. His mind is fuzzy-

He’s pushed over the edge. White spills out of him, staining the tentacle and the floor. The tentacle in his mouth retreats, presumably to let him catch his breath.

“Was it a good experience?” the squid says in a low rumble.

Just barely - more from tiredness than hesitation - Dogma nods.

“Would you like another?”

Another weak nod, then-

(Dogma wakes up with stained sheets and no idea what he should be feeling right now.)


End file.
